


Colds and Cuddles

by HPswl_cumbercookie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Doctor John Watson, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock is sick, Sick Character, Sick Sherlock, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:31:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPswl_cumbercookie/pseuds/HPswl_cumbercookie
Summary: Sherlock has a cold. John takes care of him





	Colds and Cuddles

**Author's Note:**

> So, sick fic because I'm ill and nobody wants to be near me, so I will live vicariously through John and Sherlock. If it's out of character? Oh well. I wrote this on my phone at 11pm with no beta so apologies in advance for any fuck ups because I'm not gonna beta it either. Love you guys!

Sherlock was miserable. Absolutely, 100,000% (despite that not being a realistic percentage) miserable. His sinuses felt like they were going to implode at a moment's notice, he couldn't hear a damned thing because of the pressure, and the burning in his nasopharynx was ungodly from sniffling and sneezing violently for the past 3 days. He had better things to do than lay on the sofa feeling like death, but that's precisely what he did because he didn't have the energy for much else.

 

John was at the clinic, again. He'd hardly been home at all the past few days and Sherlock had done a fantastic job of hiding his cold, but today seemed to be the day that it finally caught up with him, slamming into him like a highly pressurized freight train to the sinuses. 

 

When he'd woken up, long after John had left for the day, his face was tight with tension and he could hardly breathe, talk, or eat (which he'd had to learn the hard way after nearly choking to death on his toast when he couldn't swallow for the pain). Once he'd managed to breathe again and wash down the rest of the toast, he'd holed himself up into a homemade blanket nest on the sofa with a giant size box of medicated tissues, a plastic shopping bag, and a gigantic mug of hot tea. Once he'd settled down he hadn't budged an inch except for to sneeze violently every once in a while. Occasionally he dozed, he read his book when he was awake, but mostly he slept so as to avoid the misery of being awake. 

 

When John arrived home that evening, arms laden with a few shopping bags, he didn't even notice the Sherlock sized lump of blankets on the sofa at first, just slipped off his shoes, whistling happily to himself. He looked around a bit and, upon not seeing him, called out “Sherlock! I'm home! Are you in?” 

 

It was rare for Sherlock to go out without telling him, but it happened from time to time. At first there was no response but after a second he heard a muffled groan emanate from the sofa. 

 

“Sherlock, love? Are you in there?” John asked as he crept towards the mass. Another groan responded. When he reached the pile he leant forward and lifted the blanket a bit to see a floof of unruly, onyx curls. He pushed the blanket down farther to try to see Sherlock's face, but Sherlock just nestled farther down to hide. Eventually he couldn't make himself any smaller so John was able to see his face. 

 

“Oh Sherlock love, are you okay? You look horrible.” Sherlock's face was slightly swollen from the sinus pressure, his nose and upper lip were bright red and chapped, obviously painful. His curls were knotted and tangled from not being combed and his face was pale.

 

“Yes, I'm well aware. I feel horrible also.” Sherlock grumped piteously. “I've got a terrible cold and I've been waiting for you all day!

 

“Oh dear, I'm sorry. Why didn't you text me? I'd have come home early if I knew you weren't feeling good.” 

 

“My phone is in the bedroom.” Came the succinct, yet obviously miserable, response. 

 

“Have you not moved all day?” John asked incredulously.

 

No response.

 

“Come on lovely, you know that's not good for you, especially if you're ill. Come on, get up!” He grunted as he got got to standing and held out his hand for Sherlock. “You need to get up. Go shower and deal with your hair while I make something that will make you feel better. Go!” 

 

Sherlock slowly took John's hand and allowed himself to be heaved to his feet where he swayed slightly before John pushed on his back just enough to get him shuffling towards the bathroom. 

 

45 minutes later he finally shut off the water and painstakingly wrenched himself from the warm shower as it grew cold. He wrapped up in his towel, shivering slightly, and slowly picked his way back to the sofa. He didn't even bother to get dressed, just curled up in a tightly wound, miserable ball of suffering and reburied himself under the blankets, towel, wet curls, and all. 

 

John came over, tutting as he did, laden with a tray heaping with tea and soup and cold medicine. “Now, I would say you'll catch cold doing such a thing, but it seems you already have, so sit up and eat so you'll get better. Come on, up now.” He chided good-naturedly. He nudged Sherlock's unrelenting form upright and sat beside him as a prop. “Will you eat for my please, love?” 

 

“Can't. Breathe.” Sherlock drawled nasally, muffled by blankets and John's jumper where Sherlock had buried his head.

 

“Well, if you eat and take your medicine you can go to sleep, when you wake up you'll feel better. Okay?”

 

“UGGH, fine.” Sherlock sat up, and brought his legs up to sit criss-cross, snuggled up close to John's side. John placed the tray in Sherlock's lap, who quickly scooped up the little pre-measured cup of medicine and took it all in one quick gulp. Then he took the tea and held it to his face and breathed the thick steam deeply, relishing in the quick sliver of relief it brought before taking a long sip. He groaned as the warmth spread and lightened the pressure in his head which, as he said to John - “Felt like he had cement in his skull instead of a brain.” Which made John giggle. He sucked down the tea and quickly moved onto the soup. He was almost ravenous once he realized how relieving the warmth would be. When he finished he relieved himself of the tray and slumped over, leaning on John's shoulder but slowly leaning lower and lower until his head was in John's lap and his legs were stretched out beside him.

 

“Tired love? Here, budge up.” John. nudged Sherlock slightly. Once Sherlock had shifted, John slipped himself in behind Sherlock, tugging him in closer and wrapping his arm snugly around Sherlock's waist. He took his other hand and threaded his fingers gently through Sherlock's curls and leaning his head close to Sherlock's ear. 

 

“Are you feeling a little better now lovely?”

 

“Yes John, especially now that you're here. Thank you.” He said softly, nuzzling upwards into the comforting warmth of John's hand in his curls. “Thank you.” He spoke even softer as his wakefulness began to wane.

 

“You're welcome love. Go to sleep. I'll see you when you wake up.” 

 

Sherlock only hummed and nuzzled back into John. “Love you.” He mumbled sleepily.

 

“Love you too.” And with a soft kiss to Sherlock's curls, both fell into a peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, the thing about the cement in his head? That's something I just said to my friend because that's how I feel right now.


End file.
